


Coldest Nights

by randomcheeses



Series: What if? [30]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-20
Updated: 2011-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-15 19:25:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomcheeses/pseuds/randomcheeses





	Coldest Nights

Nights in Xerxes were always cold.

The capital was smack in the centre of the Great Desert and as the sun sank on the horizon, the burning, fire-like heat of the day always gave way to a hammer-like coldness that chilled everything it touched, reaching to the centre of all beings and filling them with an unavoidable ice that reached to their very hearts.

Or at least, that was the way Twenty Three's master described it when he feeling especially educated and superior. As he huddled on his cot, with the thin blankets draped around his shoulders, Twenty Three came to two very important conclusions. One: Master was a pompous old git. Two: He never, ever wanted to find out how cold it had to be for ice to form. (Twenty Three still did not believe that it could possibly get cold enough for water to turn hard. That was just ridiculous.)

###

Nights in Xing were cool, just this side of uncomfortable.

Of course, Van Hohenheim acknowledged wryly, he _was_ currently living at the top of a mountain, a situation unfortunately necessitated by the fact that the locals had, to his great embarrassment, decided that he was some sort of benevolent god. It was official as of this day forward, he decided. He was not giving anyone else alchemy lessons until they stopped insisting that it was magic. All the worshipping was getting ridiculous.

A noise echoing through the cool night air caught his attention and the alchemist peered through the trees surrounding his mountainside home. Nothing.

Seconds later there was another snap of a broken twig. This time Hohenheim spotted the source. He gave a quiet groan. A beautiful young woman in finest silk was making her way determinedly up the mountainside.

 _Also official,_ he added to himself. _Find a way to stop the Chang clan sending me potential wives. Nearly had to throw the last one off the west cliff to get rid of her._

###

Nights in Drachma were _bloody freezing._

"N-note to self," the Sage of the West muttered as he glanced at the small pile of ashes that had previously been a fair sized bale of sticks intended to be a decent fire. "Fire alchemy is n-not one of my strengths. Stick to solids."

"Second note to s-s-self," he said through chattering teeth. " _Never_ coming back to Drachma."

###

Nights in Amestris were . . . changeable.

The night had started off mild enough, but there was a familiar chill beginning to fill the air. Still, the celebrating locals didn't seem to mind. Mostly, he surmised, because they were dancing around a huge bonfire.

From where he was sitting however, the fire was just a little too far away, and the cold was beginning to seep through his coat. Hohenheim decided to follow his friend's example of the best way to guard against a chilly night and downed the rest of the bottle of Stray Dog that he'd been saving.

"Dance with me?"

He looked up. A brown-haired girl of about twenty was standing in front of him, holding out her hand with a smile. "Will you dance with me?"

"Uh. . ." said Van Hohenheim, master of suaveness. Behind him, Pinako Rockbell snickered into her liquor.

"Please?" the young woman said hopefully. "Just one dance?"

"Well, uh. . ." he coughed, still a little surprised. "I suppose one dance couldn't hurt."

She smiled at him as he took her hand.

The night turned warm.


End file.
